Consider me
by JestaAriadne
Summary: Prussia won't leave Lithuania alone.


**Notes:** Written for a prompt in a meme that seemed like it should be humourous-but, no, it's not so funny now, or as nice. Neither character is at all 'alright' here, but Prussia in particular isn't admitting it and is instead just demonstrating it really thoroughly. Thanks to sarageneris for the prompt & the general PruLiet inspirations~ Rated for sexual references in the dialogue framed in an unhealthy context; also some bad language and brief 20th C history references.

* * *

Prussia leans nonchalantly against the open door with his legs and arms crossed, and waits for Lithuania to notice.

"Don't you have your own work to do?"

"Uh, yeah. Not doing it. Russia's away, so who cares."

"…Right." When Lithuania speaks again he sounds as if he's explaining something to an idiot child, as if he's an even more supercilious person than he in fact is: "Russia goes away, _and later he comes back_ , and at that point he will expect you to have finished your work. You don't seem to understand the basic concepts of how it works here."

"And you're going to explain it all to me? Nah, I don't have any interest in learning how to be Russia's bitch, thanks."

Not so much as a roll of the eyes from Lithuania. Well, that was an old jibe.

"So… whatcha doing?"

Lithuania sighs as Prussia propels himself off the door frame and into the little study. In the corner by the door stands the filing cabinet, then the smaller desk with the typewriter under the window, and Lithuania sits facing the door at the big desk nearly as wide as the room itself.

"Ohh, you're writing? Whatcha writing? _Dear Mr. Russia, oooooh Prussia was so terrible today, he skipped out on his work and distracted me for a whole five minutes, so I'm telling on him. Please punish him thoroughly until he's ground down to be a good little serf like me._ "

Still nothing. Prussia sits down on the desk.

"…You know, France used to be so weird about writing, like… Sexual weird. He wasn't even talking about those filthy novels, he meant pamphlets. 'Course he did always have a boner for revolution. But still: 'the joy of a well-placed semicolon—better than sex', he'd say. And, you know, this is _France_. 'Oh the satisfaction of a perfectly balanced alexandrine - _orgasm face_ -' Like that. So weird, right? Or what do you think?" He picks up a paper from next to him. "Is this your translation? Let's see. _The front has stabilized and currently the air force, comma, which has recently changed its tactics, open bracket, see note of fifteen dot seven_ – Roman numerals and everything – _close bracket, is especially active, comma, striking massively, comma, and often effectively, comma, in a single place full stop._ …Well. Hot stuff. Consider _me_ titillated.

Lithuania plucks the paper from Prussia's hand with hardly a glance and replaces it on top of the pile. "I consider you as seldom as possible, as a rule," he says.

Prussia crows delightedly. "Oh, _good_ one, Lithy. Bonus points for the word _seldom_ , maybe you really have been reading a few of those sexy, sexy things called books over the centuries, well done." He slides papers around on the desk with an index finger. "I guess since Russia's got you doing his paperwork they must have taught you to read and write at some point…"

Another old chestnut.

"But literature, you never had much of that, did you? Not like me. Hey, and you know I kept my own memoirs? Still working on them actually, at least when I can get the damn paper around here. And by the way, you should talk to me more and be more interesting if you want anything like a role in this chapter. Course, what I really find all these years is that I truly am the star of my own life. I read back over them and it's like, wow, who is that guy; he's kind of amazing."

"So where are they now?" _This_ is the point Lithuania's chosen to break his silence?

"Huh?"

"Your diaries." His eyes are fixed on the desk; he's not writing, but he's pretending to read, rather than look at Prussia. The metaphor is an unsuspected volcano, or a wild beast shaking off drowsiness. "Got them here with you, have you, for every time you need a shot of nostalgia?"

"Well, obviously no, they're—"

"I just mean, I hope they're in a safe place. All that work gone in a single blast, that would be sad _._ "

"In a very safe place, thank you."

"Really? How do you know?"

"I would know." Prussia's brow furrows. "I would… I'm not completely stupid, I know how to protect my things."

"But they're not here. And you are stuck here." Finally Lithuania looks at him, right at him. "And they're not _read_ , and they won't ever be. All that stuff you did doesn't matter if no-one remembers, not even you, because you don't have so much proof as your own written recollections!"

"What? That's balls. It matters."

"No. Practically speaking. Never happened. Doesn't count. Anyway." He lowers his voice. "I'd've thought you'd want to embrace some plausible deniability, now that you see where it all led."

"Where it _led_?" Prussia storms as best he can around the five square feet of floorspace and punches a wall. "Fuck you, _led_ to this?"

"Not _this_." Lithuania jerks his head, indicating the cramped, cold room. "All your warring, all your music, all your insecurity? I wasn't talking about it leading to _this_."

Prussia turns grey. "Don't."

"Isn't it better you just accept what you are now? Whatever it is you're supposed to be, anyway. Enclave, half-state. Your glorious past counts for less than nothing."

"I…" Prussia takes a deep breath, gathers himself. "Just— _what?_ The hell? _You sound like Russia!_ Doctor the photos, deny the past, this is all you'll ever be now, _what_? Lith—you don't really think—" He stomps back to stand in front of the desk. "You remember me, I KNOW YOU DO."

Lithuania shrugs. "Yes? And, fine, maybe I don't believe a word of what I just said about burying the past, and maybe I do! But, in case you've forgotten, no one cares what I think. And no one cares what you think either, except maybe the _police_ , and it astonishes me that you don't seem to understand this!"

"So, what, you're giving up? You're—you?"

" _Giving up_?" Lithuania laughs. "What are you talking about? You're not in a fight! You lost. Yes, I'm talking like Russia, because he's in charge here, and, and do you act like this in front of him?! I've said it before: I don't like you, but—"

Prussia staggers down to sit on the desk again.

"—you don't need to keep saying that."

"WHY ARE YOU _HERE_ , PRUSSIA? WHY ARE YOU BOTHERING ME?"

Lithuania pounds his fist on the desk, once, then sits back and shakes his head. "I don't especially… care, actually. I'm done. Could you please leave?"

Prussia doesn't move at all for ten seconds, sitting on the desk, facing away towards the door, slumped with one hand pressed to his forehead like a hackneyed attitude of agony. "Don't make me," he says, just as quiet. "You don't want me to."

"I _do—_ "Lithuania starts to huff, and Prussia gets off the desk, walks around to his side and stands there, looking down at him mournfully, throwing him into shadow. Lithuania turns slowly in his seat to look him in the eyes.

"Hey," Prussia says, still soft. "Come on. Don't yell at me." He nods at the papers. "Sexy punctuation, remember? Sexy writing. You've got such nice hands. I like the angles of your wrist there. I like the bones by your throat. You're too skinny these days of course, but I bet you could take me in a fight. Anytime, you could take me anytime, just…"

"Prussia, _stop_ it…"

Prussia falls to his knees.

"—consider me."

Quick as an electric shock he grabs Lithuania's wrist. Like he's tracing those bones and angles he was admiring earlier, but gripping with enough force nearly to break them. " _Please_." His nails are dirty (what happened to Mr. Neat?) and not trimmed, digging into Lithuania's flesh. "I know I'm nothing much now either, sure, but…"

He could do it, but Lithuania will have to exert some physical force to get rid of Prussia.

So in the meantime, Prussia puts his other hand on Lithuania's chest. (The desk is up against the wall on the other side; he will have to get through Prussia to leave.)

"Just… consider me: frantic, undone, so… hot… Is that what you want? You want me to play nice with you? Or… everyone thinks you're a pushover, you know, but I remember you. You never did fucking quit, that's what made it fun." Just a shadow of his old sabre-edged smile. "So much _fight_."

He shoves Lithuania back in his chair. Then with trembling fingers he reaches up to touch his throat, the bones there— Still on his knees, it's a reach, like a gesture of supplication or of worship, but sudden and violent—

Lithuania grimly grabs his hand and holds it still, holds it back down against his own chest. They are hand-in-hand, each holding hard.

"Don't tell me _you_ want to forget the old days," Prussia murmurs. "I remember you when you were a major player. And Poland _,_ for sure he was a big noise—and I mean an incredibly loud noise, my God, he was annoying—acting like he was Prince of everything… and I _know_ you were getting some of that."

Lithuania hisses—finally, something! "I could break every bone in your hand," he growls.

" _Come on_ , then. Come on, don't you want to get your own back?"

Lithuania says nothing.

"Come on… just imagine it… Consider me, telling you, ' _oh God oh God, Liet that's hot, hurts so good, harder,_ please _—'"_

He lets his head roll back, panting ecstatic… then glances up to check the reaction, eyes red slits.

It is cold in Russia's house but sweat beads on his forehead. He's been sick for so long.

Lithuania swallows. He's gripping Prussia's hand so tightly it's beginning to go numb.

"Have you finished?" he rasps. "Feel better?"

Prussia bows his head, defeated. "Fuck no."

An answer to the second question. He looks exhausted but then they all do.

Lithuania pulls both his hands free in a single sharp motion.

"Prussia, get up. And get out."

" _What do I have to do to get you to_ —"

"Before you embarrass yourself even more!"

Prussia stands up. "I felt your heartbeat," he says, voice strained, "my hand on your heart I felt you breathing—DON'T IGNORE ME!"

He sweeps his arm across the desk, through the papers like a wave, and sends the old-fashioned ink pot flying. It hits the opposite wall and lands, streaming ink down the paint and across the papers and splashing both of their shirts.

" _Prussia!"_ Lithuania scrapes his chair back and stares, hands splayed and tense. But he doesn't stand, doesn't hit out, just quickly starts blotting up the spilled ink.

Prussia stands with both fists on the desk supporting him, looking down, panting.

"Move," Lithuania mutters. "Move,"—tugging at a piece of paper.

When Prussia doesn't, Lithuania lifts his fist with both of his hands, or tries to but it's heavy with Prussia leaning on it all dead-weight. He finally succeeds and Prussia staggers.

Lithuania carefully tears the next page, with some ink damage, from his pad and presents it under Prussia's nose like a commission.

"Here. Congratulations, you solved your paper shortage. Forget your diary, write down those speeches you made and you've got a filthy little novel of your own."

White and shaking, Prussia takes the paper, screws it into a ball and throws it to the ground. It makes hardly a sound on the old carpet.

* * *

 **Notes:**

The inherent eroticism of a well-placed semicolon is alluded to by Camille Desmoulins in Hilary Mantel's A Place of Greater Safety, iirc; it's been a while since I read it.)

Set in the 50s I guess? The point is that Poland doesn't live here, but Prussia seems to at least a bit in the comics-hence why maybe Kaliningrad is relevant.

 ** _and an omake :)_**

 **Prussia:** Remember when we were both knights? I thought you were pretty hot back then...

 **Lithuania:** You called me unwashed cheating infidel barbarian scum. Repeatedly!

 **Prussia:** Yeah, but, like. In a nice way. In a "oh-so-wrong and yet so right, big tough barbarian with no manners, that shit's so totally MANLY, right?" sort of way. A "here I am so buttoned-up, lily-white, holy knight, want me some of that forbidden, get on over here and RUIN me already"... sort of way?

 **Lithuania:** .. ... 1. Um, no; who's doctoring their histories now? and 2. _WTF WAS THAT?_ -


End file.
